


Letters Home

by mystiri1



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Community: fictunes, Family, Gen, Military, Wars, Wutai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-14
Updated: 2010-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of a typical day in Wutai, Zack tries to write a letter to his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters Home

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Shebeg and Shemor #2](http://www.mediafire.com/?zizfwdm3wie).

It was late. Darkness had already fallen, and there was little activity in the encampment; those who did move between the tents did so with purpose. Despite that, Zack sat beside a fire that was slowly dying away to embers, and chewed thoughtfully on the end of a pen.

A thick book was perched on one knee. It was the SOLDIER manual which, contrary to the allegations made by some, he had actually read. Once. Mostly he thought it was a lot of irrelevant, bureaucratic nonsense dreamed up by paper-pushers who'd never seen an actual field engagement, but he kept a copy in his kit anyway, because he never knew when it would come in handy. Like now, when it was serving as a surface on which to write a letter.

So far, the letter read, 'Dear Mum and Dad'.

He supposed he could have used the table in the Ops tent. The maps and documents were all cleared away now, to whatever secret place they were hidden in between briefings. The light was still on inside though, likely some unfortunate officer trying to clear a little paperwork before another day's fighting left them even further behind. But Zack liked it just fine out here, beneath the stars.

They'd enlarged an existing clearing to hold the camp, because you didn't want to be too close to the tree-line. All kinds of things could hide amongst the trees, from Wutaian soldiers to really nasty wildlife. Those trees and their inhabitants made Zack think of home; some of the creatures they'd encountered were truly bizarre in their appearance and inborn magics. Ironically, no matter what they ran into, he still couldn't find anyone who believed him about the Touch Mes that lived in the jungle surrounding Gongaga. Maybe he'd bring a couple of squad-mates with him when he went back for a visit, let them find out for themselves what it was like to get frogged.

He chuckled as he tried to decide who was most deserving of being turned into a small, brightly-coloured amphibian.

It was a beautiful country, really. There were wooded mountains and rocky beaches that looked like they'd never been set foot upon before now, pristine and untouched. His parents would like that, even with the hostile fauna. Fairs had lived in Gongaga for generations, and while others might marvel and curse at the humidity and insects and strangling vegetation, it was home. But it seemed kind of _wrong_ to Zack to write about how wonderful Wutai was when he was there to help ShinRa conquer it.

The night breeze carried the smoke-and-wood scent of the fires, and even a hint of the evening's dinner, long since consumed. Roasted adamantaimai, the flesh surprisingly flavourful and tender once you got past the tough shell. Zack was glad of that – he'd had to be up even earlier than usual this morning to lead a hunting party. Sure, they'd planned a battle for later that day, but SOLDIERs required a lot of protein to function at that kind of level day in and day out, and fresh was best.

Any time they had a fixed camp there were hunting parties; they foraged even when they were on the move, although they tried to stick to those items they could stomach raw if fires weren't possible. Wutai had expanded his tastes in ways he'd never imagined; back when he was just a small boy with big dreams in Gongaga he'd never have though it possible that someday he'd eat raw fish and be glad of it. Leifsson was joking about opening a restaurant when he retired, passing it off on the Midgar elite as a delicacy.

Maybe he'd write about that. It would probably amuse his father, but he could almost hear his mother scolding him about eating properly. It would be followed by the suggestion that he settle down, find himself a nice girl who could cook. If Zack had been willing to settle down, he never would have left Gongaga for SOLDIER in the first place.

Zack sighed. He always had this problem when it came time to try and write a letter home. There were several half-written ones in his quarters back in Midgar, but he'd always get called away before he could finish and when he remembered them, nothing that he'd written seemed relevant any more. Out here it was even harder to find something that he could write to his parents about. There was a lot going on that he didn't want them to know. It would just... worry them. He was pretty sure that ShinRa was censoring the mail, anyway.

He stretched, feeling the pull of sore muscles as he did so. He'd be fine by morning; he hadn't had any serious injuries today. It was only now that he'd stopped for the day that he even noticed the aches and bruises. He certainly hadn't felt it when he'd gained them, caught up in the heat of battle. Maybe war was unpleasant, but the truth was that most SOLDIERs lived to fight. It was a rush like no other, pushing themselves to be better, stronger, faster than their opponents, adrenaline pumping because this wasn't any tame training session they were fighting in. It didn't matter if those opponents were monsters or enemy soldiers, not when they were in the thick of it.

And when the battles were over, it was the kind of thing you didn't want to think about too hard.

Definitely not something he was going to write about to his parents.

His mood having taken a sudden dive, Zack scowled at the paper which still had the gall to bear only a single, written line. He _needed_ to write something; it had been quite some time since he'd left home, and in all that time, he'd sent two telegrams: one to assure his parents he'd made it to Midgar, and another to let them know he'd made SOLDIER. With no letters and no phone calls – they didn't have a PHS, anyway – they probably thought that he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, it had been so long.

“Hey, Zack, what're you doing?” Kunsel called from the entrance of their tent. “It's poker night, remember? Grammon's already got the cards out; if you want him to deal you in, you better hurry up. I'm so gonna beat the pants off you tonight.”

Grateful for the distraction, he stood up, shoving the paper into a pocket where it immediately crumpled like some guilty secret. “Yeah, right,” he laughed as he loped over to the tent. “You're so unlucky it's a wonder you're still here.”

“Hey, I'm still here _because_ I'm unlucky. If I was lucky, I'd have won the Midgar Lottery and retired to Costa del Sol.” Kunsel glanced down at the book in Zack's hand. “You know, Zack, I can give you something with more pictures if that one's giving you trouble.”

Zack swiped the book at Kunsel's head in a move his friend dodged easily, then ducked inside.

He'd finish the letter to his parents later.


End file.
